


the places we call home

by jan



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jan/pseuds/jan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dear grendelity,</p><p>I took a line from your request and ran with it -- I hope the resulting fic works! There are references to events in volume 13 of the manga, but I think it should be okay if you've yet to read it. Also, the image I have of human-form-Madara comes mainly from Japanese fanart, so I hope yours does too. ^_^;;</p>
    </blockquote>





	the places we call home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grendelity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grendelity/gifts).



> Dear grendelity,
> 
> I took a line from your request and ran with it -- I hope the resulting fic works! There are references to events in volume 13 of the manga, but I think it should be okay if you've yet to read it. Also, the image I have of human-form-Madara comes mainly from Japanese fanart, so I hope yours does too. ^_^;;

The first time 'Nyanko-sensei' transforms in their apartment is a disaster. The newly-stocked bookshelf is swept clean by a flourish of his tail, the table bumps awkwardly up against the wall, and a young houseplant dies a premature death under one giant paw. 

"You need a bigger place," Madara huffs.

"Or you need to be smaller," Natsume says placidly, removing a stray windchime from a tangle of pale fur.

He doesn't expect the suggestion to be taken up in quite the way it is. Within a few weeks, Madara has begun lounging about the apartment in a form Natsume's never seen before. There's something familiar about the face, at least, framed as it is by hair of impractical length: a touch of something feline, something wild. Still, despite the markings on his skin and his ridiculously opulent robe, the impression Madara gives is almost human. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Madara scoffs, in the face of Natsume's mild bemusement. "Such elegance, such grace -- there's nothing human about it at all."

He extends one slim hand in illustration, flexes his claws. Natsume just smiles.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, moving in was the easy part. The difficulty was in moving away: in the instant that the train pulled out of the station and the platform began to recede, and in the sudden shock of distance carried down a crackling phone line, and through the moments and moments since, at breakfast or dinner or half-asleep in a room whose shadows he had yet to learn. But he learns those, eventually, as he learns many other things -- things that, years ago, he would have lacked even the vocabulary for. For instance: forming a new home does not mean abandoning an old one. Many things can endure across distances. To be apart from someone does not mean you have lost them.

And so he has letters, New Year's postcards, strings of text messages that tie him to half-a-dozen hearts; the occasional train ride back to what he has come to think of, in all defiance of chronology, as his hometown. When he returns to the Fujiwaras, the greeting is always _Welcome back_ , the response always _I'm home_.

It is possible, Natsume finds, to have more than one place in the world.

The ceiling is lower in his apartment, the space a little more cluttered, but there's still enough room for Madara's true form to curl at rest around Natsume's futon. When Natsume wakes it is to an immense presence and the fall of silken hair, or to a ball of fur nestled close, or to a claw-tipped hand resting lightly against his skin -- but always, always, to warmth.

 

* * *

 

By the time the letter arrives, Natsume has stopped counting the number of months since he moved in. Shigeru-san is the one who forwards it to him, with a gently concerned accompanying note. The envelope arrived in their mailbox one day, he explains: no address, no stamp, just Natsume's name in an elegant hand. And, though Shigeru-san does not comment on it, two familiar kanji on the back.

Matoba. The very act of sending it is an old threat in new form: _I know where they are, these people you deem important. I can tell them anything, and everything._

"Throw it away," Madara says, reaching forward to pluck it out of Natsume's hands.

Natsume doesn't let him. "It might be important." Not for what Matoba wants, he thinks, but for what might happen if he does not obtain it.

Perhaps something in his thoughts carries through to his tone. Madara stalks off, lies down on the folded heap of Natsume's futon with a theatrical sigh instead. "Suit yourself. What does he want now?"

Natsume opens the letter a bit too quickly, skips the seasonal pleasantries that begin it. It's hard to concentrate, to fight the urge to skim, but as far as he can see there's no specific request this time. There's barely a request at all. The letter seems more a proposal, the presentation of a case for consideration -- or a reminder of one made before. _My offer will always remain open._

"He's sending this now that I'm in university," Natsume says in disbelief. "He wants me to think about my future. About becoming an exorcist."

Madara makes a sound halfway between disdain and amusement, but doesn't turn around. Natsume reads on. The letter is eloquent, unfailingly polite, the implicit threat of the gesture absent in the words. The lack of menace unsettles Natsume more than blunt coercion would have done. Perhaps, he thinks, Matoba has come to understand him better since their first few encounters -- this change is a change of strategy, nothing more. (Natsume, for his part, does not enjoy trying to understand Matoba. But it seems important to at least try.)

The letter appeals to his better nature, for a change, not to fear or bitterness or ambition. _You would be important to us_ , Matoba writes, as if he would like Natsume by his side as a person, not another weapon in his arsenal. _There are many people you could help with your strength._

 _Maybe_ , Natsume thinks. _But not the way you would like me to._

"Shall I eat him?" Madara asks, idly examining his ever-immaculate nails. "He can't be too hard to find."

"I don't think that'd be helpful, sensei."

A second page, and then it ends. There's no return address, but that isn't surprising. Even if the Matoba clan were difficult to contact -- and Natsume doubts that they are -- it is hard to say if Matoba expects a reply at all.

"I'll call Shigeru-san and thank him for sending the letter on," Natsume says at last. "And tell him it was... just from an acquaintance."

His hand is trembling, a little. He's not sure why. A line near the end stares up at him from the page: _You could have a home here, with us. You always can._

Years ago, those might have been the right words.

The thought unfolds slowly, a window swinging open on everything that might have been: paths he could have taken, if things had been different. If he'd met Matoba earlier, or even Natori. If there had been a youkai that spoke persuasively enough of escape, or one cruel enough to make a difference. And then, the paths he wouldn't have had a chance to take: if he'd never had the Book of Friends, if he'd never met--

He doesn't realise he's been staring into space until there's a movement just beside him. Madara is a warm presence at his back, the fall of his hair like silk against skin as he leans over Natsume's shoulder and plucks the letter from his grasp.

"Don't," Natsume says, startled.

"It doesn't seem to be doing you any good."

Madara's voice is light, but there's the slightest curl of a growl beneath it. Natsume blinks, then understands.

"It's okay. There's nothing to worry about, and it's not like I'll reply to it, but I... I don't want to throw it away." There's something here he needs, though he hasn't found the words for it: a reminder, a half-formed realisation he wants to keep close. "It's important."

"There you go again." But Madara tosses the letter back down, and that seems to be that. "Soft as always. You and all your 'important things'."

"Yes," Natsume says. He smiles. "Yes, sensei. There are a lot of those, now."


End file.
